


Choices

by Pythia (Mythichistorian)



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 02:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythichistorian/pseuds/Pythia
Summary: You'd think being turned to stone would mean you'd be frozen in place for ever, right?  But when the She-Demon tagged Iolaus, he found himself in a whole world of trouble ...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:This story has been written for love rather than profit and is not intended to violate any copyrights held by Universal, Pacific Rennaisance, or any other holders of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys trademarks or copyrights.

_**‘There is no easy path leading out of life, and few are the easy ones that lie within it’** _

* * *

The darkness was impenetrable, it surrounded and suffocated him. He couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, couldn’t move - couldn’t even _breathe_. He was drowning in nothingness, swallowed by it, immersed in a complete and utter absence of everything. There was nothing to touch, nothing to feel; not heat, nor cold, no light, no dark, no up or down. It was much worse than being simply deaf and blind. There was no scent in his nostrils, no taste on his tongue - and seemingly no air in his lungs with which to voice the frustrated scream that writhed inside him.

There was just _nothing_.

And it was all his fault.

_I should’ve known she’d do something like that._

_Sneaking up on me ..._

_I should have moved a little faster._

_Gods!_

_I should have been **ready** ..._

He didn’t know how long he’d been - wherever it was he was; he had nothing with which to measure the passage of time, and no sense of it passing in any case. He didn’t exist but for the frantic tumble of his thoughts, which simply swirled him around what if’s and maybe’s - in between each unvoiced howl of frustrated non-existence.

_Locked in stone._

_That’s what’s become of me._

_Trapped for eternity ..._

He could still see the look of triumph on the She-Demon’s face as she delivered her savage sting. Could still feel the way her curse had taken hold, crackling its way through his body, his blood freezing in his veins and the nothingness rushing in to swallow him whole. Sight had been practically the last thing he had lost. The image of her smile lay seared into his mind, mocking his helpless struggle as he fought to be free of his doom.

Nothing.

There was nothing to fight against, nothing to fight towards, nothing to fight and nothing to fight with. Only darkness and a sense of self that stubbornly refused to accept that _this_ was to be his fate.

_I tried_ ...

That was a better anchor than angry self recrimination; he latched onto the thought, using it to centre himself in an existence that perception said had no centre. That didn’t even seem to have _him_.

_Someone had to stop her._

_Herc would have done it if -_

_If ..._

The darkness didn’t hurt, but the memory that belonged with that thought did. It had a savage rawness that shivered through his heart and left him cramped with anguished grief. 

_She killed them all._

_**All**._

The unspoken howl of frustration twisted into a moment of pure pain. His first thoughts on discovering Hercules’ loss had been focused on the man himself; he’d known only too well how deep that wound would cut, understanding and sympathising with the desperation of its victim. He’d understood, too, why the man had felt the need to push him away, however much it had hurt to be so summarily dismissed. He’d been eager enough to take up the task his friend had refused, even before he’d known what it was going to be, and once he _had_ known, the chance to vent a little of his own anger against one of Hera’s creatures had only added to the focus of his determination. But now, in the dark, in the nothing to which his own good intentions had condemned him - the comprehension of what had occurred came back to him with distraught immediacy. His best friend’s family had become his life line after he’d lost his own; now they too were gone, all the bright moments of innocence, all the warmth of Deianeira’s smile - _gone_.

He would never wrestle with the boys again. Never charm a smile from Ilea’s pretty face, or share a joke with the woman who had won his partner’s heart.

_They were my family too ..._

The old grief - the grief he’d locked away, done with, dealt with - coiled back to rake across his soul with talons of bitter despair. Life wasn’t fair. It could deal blows that left a man reeling, and sometimes those bruising blows cut wounds so deep they never entirely healed.

_His_ scars were old ones, over which this new grief now painted a patina of bleak and aching loss. Despair swallowed him as utterly as the darkness which currently engulfed him; the light to which he had clung, that day, so close, so long ago, had been the strength and support of his best friend. That same best friend whose wounds were now fresh and bleeding, who was going to need someone to lean on in turn.

_He’s gonna need **me**._

_I should be there for him ..._

Only he, like a fool, like a hot headed, impulsive hero, determined to do the right thing while his friend expressed his grief and anger, had managed to deal himself right out of the picture, getting himself killed, for Zeus’ sake, just when the _last_ thing Hercules needed to deal with was another loss ...

**_Gods!_ **

The darkness - the _nothingness -_ was suddenly more than he could bear. Anger and frustration filled his entire existence. He damned the fates and he railed at the gods, cursing the ones that played their petty games with mankind and cursing the rest for standing by and doing nothing about it. He swore at Hera, wrapping her name in bitter invective. He ranted against Zeus, who’d not been there to stop her. He howled the names of their children with hostile fury: Ares, Artemis, Apollo, Athena, Aphrodite ...

And, when he’d finally run out of vitriol, he added his own name to the list, cursing himself for his overconfidence, for getting himself into this whole disastrous situation in the first place.

_Iolaus,_ he told himself angrily, _you really, **really** screwed up this time ..._

"So _that’s_ your name. About time too. Are you done?"

Light, sense and feeling flooded in as the voice spoke. Iolaus reacted with a startled jerk, the world reeling around him as he went from total absence of everything to just too _much_ sensation all at once.

"What - ?" he gasped, blinking the dazzle from his eyes. "Who - ?"

"Most of those that ask my name - regret the answer," the voice purred, barely inches from his right ear. He spun in that direction, swaying unsteadily on his feet as he fought to regain his equilibrium. A pair of dark eyes were watching him; coal black eyes, set in a pale face that was, in turn, framed by a startling tumble of unruly blue-black hair. The woman was as slim as a reed, her angular face as narrow as the rest of her; her lips were deepest crimson, and despite all that - or perhaps because of it - she was astonishingly beautiful.

She was also laughing at his bemused expression.

"You’re pretty," she observed, reaching out a slender finger to boldly run it up the line of his chest. Her hand arched through the gesture and at the end of it she _flicked,_ closing his half open mouth and leaving the sting of her finger nail on the underside of chin. " _Very_ pretty," she concluded with satisfaction. "I might like having you around." The remark was laden with suggestive menace and coquettish confidence. Half of him shivered; the other half wanted to take a step closer - and almost did. "For a while, at least." The woman laughed, taking a small step backwards to study him a little better. 

She folded her arms around her waist and looked at him sideways, licking her lips as she did so. The shiver became a little more pronounced. 

_Erm_ , Iolaus grimaced with bemusement, _why do I get the impression this lady’s dangerous ..?_

He had no idea who or even _what_ she was, or how he’d managed to get from _nowhere_ to - wherever he now seemed to be. _Somewhere dark - and open_ , was his first disorientated impression, hunter’s instincts registering a sense of landscape where, moments before, there had been nothing but - _nothing_. He returned the woman’s consideration warily, trying not to get distracted by the glimpse of milk white leg that was emerging from the waterfall of her gown. She was dressed in a shimmering drapery of midnight blue and silver. The sweep of silk was caught in at her waist with a wide belt which sported a skull shaped buckle fastened with skeletal fingers. Above it her bodice hugged a suggestion of curves, emphasised by an overlay of silver bones shaped to match the ribs that lay beneath it. Her sleeves were little more than a drape of heavy silk, fastened only at shoulder and wrist and they moved as she moved, with a sinuous, almost snake like grace.

_Very, **very** dangerous._

He half expected the tongue that was suggestively exploring those crimson lips to have a fork at the end of it.

"I," she announced, seemingly amused by his wide eyed assessment of her, "am sometimes known as the Distant One. The Queen of Air and Darkness. This is my domain, which lies between the living world - " Her hand went out with languid grandeur. "- and the kingdoms of the dead."

_Oh ..._

The word that sprang to mind was one not even his father had considered acceptable in mixed company. It described his situation perfectly. _Now_ he knew where he was - and who this predator cloaked in female anatomy had to be. The villager had warned him about the She Devil and to whom she sacrificed her victims.

_**That’s** Hecate?_

The goddess was a far cry from what rumour and myth suggested. This was no wizened, hideous hag. But that didn’t mean the _rest_ of the tales about her were lies ... She smiled knowingly at the horrified expression which chased across his face. "Does _that_ answer your questions?"

"Oh yeah," he breathed before he could stop himself. His eyes darted away from the fascination of her face to try and catch a glimpse of his surroundings. "Welcome to the twilight zone."

* * *

"I like to think of myself as - an _artist_ ," Hecate was purring, stalking her way around the wary hunter with a speculative gleam in her eye. Iolaus nodded a cautious agreement, despite having absolutely no idea what she might be talking about. His mind was racing, and - while carefully spinning on the spot to try and keep an eye on whatever the Sorceress might be planning for him - he was also weighing up his surroundings, assessing his environment with the desperation of a man who needed to know his options.

And needed to know them _fast_.

_Okay. Weird landscape. Some sort of clearing in a forest somewhere. **Lots** of twisted, half dead trees. It’s night - or nearly, anyway. Just after dusk I guess. No sun, but no stars or moon either. Four gravel paths leading in from the compass points. Torches - lit ones - stuck into metal stands either side of where each roadway enters. Throne of some sort over **there**. Stone edged pool where the paths converge in the middle - gods, that water’s black. Is it water? Can’t be sure  ..._

"Hades is content to merely judge the souls that come to him," the goddess continued silkily. "While I - I _sculpt_ them. Into shapes that reflect the inner nature of the men concerned. Or the women," she added with a small shrug. "It’s all the same to me."

"Uhuh." Iolaus nodded a second time, and she laughed.

"You don’t have the faintest idea what I’m talking about." Hecate’s expression was indulgent, the look of someone who knows that they - and _only_ they - are in control of a situation. "Not that that matters. You’ll find out, soon enough. You have - _possibilities_ ," she decided, tilting her head to study him a little better. 

"I do?" There was a hint of squeak in the question. Iolaus _didn’t_ know what she’d been talking about - but he had an uneasy feeling that, whatever it was, he wasn’t going to like it very much.

"Mmhuh." Her hand reached out to stroke the side of his jaw, her fingers sliding up with a sensous touch - until they tangled in his hair and _clenched_ , eliciting a wince and a caught back gasp of pain. "My sister’s being unusually generous for once. I don’t usually get sent material of _this_ quality."

"I hope that’s a compliment," he muttered through gritted teeth. She chuckled and let go of him; he immediately took a wary step backwards, so that he was just out of her reach. Her _physical_ reach that is. He very much suspected that everything in her kingdom lay firmly within her grasp.

"Maybe," she allowed, considering his move with decided amusement. "It all depends on your point of view." The goddess folded her arms, her long taloned fingers settling on either side so that her nails were bright red splashes against milk white skin. "Definitely possibilities," she decided, finding him a smile that sent icy shivers right down his spine.

_Oh, boy ..._

"So. _Where_ should we begin?" Hecate’s voice - which had already been a low, sultry sound - dropped a little in pitch, her dark eyes fixing him with a sudden and mesmerising attention. He had little warning, and no chance to resist; he was transfixed by the look, held as certainly as he’d been held by the encroach of stone. "What deep, dark secrets does your soul conceal? Where do the flaws in the diamond run? Will I find jealousy? Anger? Hate - greed?" she pondered, stepping closer with each word. Her hands lifted, those long fingers wrapping themselves on either side of his face so that she could tilt and study his features. Her eyes were deep wells that swallowed him up; he was drowning in them. There was nothing but the darkness, drawing him in, wrapping him with velvet touches. "What is it? What’s the key to your corruption, little man?"

_Little?_

The word triggered a sudden surge of self awareness. Iolaus blinked, drawing a startled breath into lungs that had forgotten they should be breathing. That, in turn, cracked and splintered the web of magic that she’d been spinning around him. Light and perception registered; he pulled free from her grip with decided alarm, fighting for focus and trying to shake away the feeling of her fingers sinking deep into his soul.

"No," he gasped, stepping backwards and glancing to one side so as to avoid the impact of her eyes. "I won’t - I - I don’t - belong to _you_ ..."

"Oh yes, you do." Her reaction was amused rather than angry. "You were sent to me as a gift - one for me to use however I want, for as long you remain within my reach. And that’s going to be a long time. Because, all the while your body lies trapped within the She-Demon’s stone, your soul will belong here, trapped between life and death. For someone in your position, there’s only _one_ escape from my kingdom - and it’s one you’ll never risk.

"Nobody ever does ..."

" _No,"_ he repeated, somehow managing to add a little firmness to the statement. He wasn’t sure _how_ \- he felt decidedly shaky, almost as if his body were no longer entirely his to command. The weirdness of the feeling merely added to his conviction that - whatever she intended to do to him - he was _not_ going to like it. "No, I - don’t - I - I _won’t .._." He continued to back up as he spoke, finding himself edging around the dark pool, and trying not to notice how the inky black liquid in it reflected and distorted his image into a grotesque caricature. It looked too much like he felt right there and then.

_Focus, Iolaus_ , he told himself firmly. _Focus ..._

It took effort, but a few deep breaths and a shuddery shake managed to restore a little of his equilibrium. Hecate didn’t seem to be following him, but he dare not glance up to make sure. "I - I don’t know what it is that you want," he told her, finding the words all in a rush. "But you’re not going to get it from _me._ "

He tensed as he spoke, expecting anger at his rebellion, waiting for the impact of Olympian power unleashed in response to impious defiance. Much to his surprise, he heard her laugh.

"Pride," she announced, a word packed with amused satisfaction. "Stubborn, hot headed, _pride._ Aah - I knew you were going to be a good one!"

_Now_ he looked up, a little stung that his determined struggle for self should be read as mere self centred arrogance - while, at the same time, vaguely terrified that he might have somehow given her the very thing she required. The goddess hadn’t moved. She was standing right where he’d left her, watching him with thoughtful intent.

"Yes," she decided, after a moment. "Too good to waste, really. I think what _you_ need is a little - _demonstration_." She lifted her hand, moving it through a languid gesture that reached out, snagged, and pulled _._ They were a good distance apart by now, but he still felt those talons sweep right through him. He gasped as _something_ was torn away; not much, less than a whisper, but still something substantial enough to feel. A wave of dizziness spun through his senses, matching the sudden flicker and flare of the torchlight.

"Willingly or not," Hecate murmured confidently, "you’re going submit to me - eventually. Until then, you’ll just have to learn what defiance costs. You’re in _my_ realm - and while your soul might not yet be mine, the shadows you cast are another matter entirely. Linger anywhere long enough to give them substance - and _they’ll_ serve me, even if you won’t."

_What?_

Iolaus glanced round in alarm; there were more than a dozen torches lighting the clearing - and the flicker of each of them created long limbed shadows that danced over the gravel and soft dark turf alike before they vanished among the twisted limbs of the trees. All of them _his_. The goddess didn’t seem to be casting any ...

"I’m the ruler of shadows," she was saying, watching him with predatory confidence. "And they serve me well. As long as you walk in my kingdom you’ll be a marked man - _Iolaus._ " She breathed his name with appreciation, owning every syllable with decided relish. "Stand too long in the light - and the darkness it spawns will hunt you down and bring you to heel." Her smile was disturbing; it was somehow both beautiful _and_ terrifying at the same time.

"My - shadows," he noted warily, his eyes flicking from side to side while he continued to slowly back away. There was no one else in sight. No-one but the goddess, whose siren presence tugged at him, trying to draw him towards her with a compulsion that was hard to resist. His steps slowed even further. For one fateful moment, he stood completely still ...

\- and a shape that was no shape, that had no definite substance, peeled up and away from the ground somewhere to his right and launched itself at him. Shadow flowed into form, creating a figure that was neither entirely solid, nor completely there - a darkly translucent parody of himself - which charged forward, its arms reaching out to grab and take hold.

Instinct saved him. A warrior’s instinct, forged from long days in battle and even longer ones in training for it. He moved with reactive speed, taking a step sideways and back, and striking out, just as he would at any other foe. His blow connected; not with solid flesh, but with _something_. The looming shadow was knocked away, its ice cold fingers leaving his skin tingling where they’d briefly touched it.

_It’s solid enough to be hurt_ , was his first - and vaguely relieved, realisation. His second one tightened a noose of sudden panic around his heart. _Gods! That means it’s solid enough to hurt **me** ..._

He edged back a little further, keeping one wary eye on the watching goddess and the other on the insubstantial warrior as it climbed back to its feet.

_How do you fight a shadow?_

_Shad **ows** ,_ he hurriedly corrected himself a moment later. Another vaguely man sized shape had coalesced to his left, and was leaping to the attack. He barely dodged that one, disconcerted by the way it mimicked his movements, echoing his reckless fighting style. A lucky twist, dodge and elbow jab sent it tumbling, and he spun round from the maneuver in time to see the way the two shapes collided - briefly merged - and then reformed side by side, their practically transparent presences hard to make out in the flicker and dance of the torchlight.

_Gods ..._

He jumped back in alarm as one sprang forward into a spinning leap and kick - which happened to be the tactic that _he’d_ have used had he been on the attack . Recognising that saved him from most of the intended blow, but it still hit hard enough to send him staggering. The impact was backed by a numbing chill, as if the contact had dragged heat straight out of his body. He scarcely had time to register that before the second shadow was racing in to strike; he dodged, kicked out, and then dropped into a roll, barely escaping the insubstantial hands that clutched at him.

_Come **on** , Iolaus, _he grimaced angrily as he bounced off soft turf and back to his feet. _You can handle this. It’s only two against one._

Except that he seemed to be facing two of _himself_ \- who seemed to be just as fast, just as slippery, and whole lot harder to see.

_If there was just little more light ..._

His eyes flicked towards the nearest torch, then hurriedly back before the shifting shapes could be lost against the texture of the twilight shrouded trees. He’d quickly realised that to lose sight of those weird phantoms would be to lose the fight almost before it had begun. They made no sound whatsoever, and they moved like whispers of smoke; they were little more than shifting patches of darkness against the dim dancing light.

If he stood still, he could probably get a better look at them.

But that was the one thing he dare _not_ do; he knew that doing so would simply serve to swell the ranks of his adversaries. The shiver of Hecate’s spell still reverberated through him, a chilling reminder that the prize in this particular contest was the possession of his soul. He knew the goddess was watching; her presence dominated the entire clearing, filling it with a sense of arrogant and amused confidence.

Iolaus kept moving, circling round and trying not to let the spectral warriors flank him. He dodged another feint, then cursed as the movement brought him close to a pool of brighter illumination. The nearer he moved to a torch, the shadows it cast became darker and more defined - and he had no wish to face the creatures that _they_ might spawn. 

_Wait a minute!_

He started to dance sideways and back, maintaining a little half step bounce on the balls of his feet to stop any of his remaining shadows settling long enough to gain substance. The thought that had arisen was just a suspicion, and he needed a little evidence before he risked himself acting on it. If he were wrong about this ...

He wasn’t wrong. Phantom figures glided in pursuit - but they stayed _out_ of the direct impact of the light, deliberately avoiding the brighter patch..

_Yes!_

He let out a wild whoop and sprung forward, aiming himself straight at the advancing shades. They both took a reactive step back, which was _just_ what he wanted. A leap and a twist lifted him high into the air. His fingers briefly touched turf as he turned through the handspring, adding extra impetus, and he somersaulted out of it, flying over the heads of his adversaries to land, feet first, right where the southern pathway left the trees.

And right _next_ to an angled metal stand that was supporting one of the flickering torches.

It only took a moment to snatch the heavy, flame drenched torch from its mountings. Iolaus spun on his heel and thrust the weapon out in front of him, wielding it like a two handed sword. Burning oil spattered from the tightly wrapped cloth, but it wasn’t _that_ which did damage; the charging shadows impaled themselves on the light, their half glimpsed shapes shattering, splintering into shards of darkness which, in turn, quickly dissipated into nothing at all.

_Round one to me,_ Iolaus decided, gasping for breath and swinging the torch from side to side to keep the rest of his shadows dancing. Hecate clearly thought so too; the sound of her applause was an ironic acknowledgement of his victory.

"Nicely done," she noted with a hint of amused admiration. "I see you can think as well as fight - an odd combination, but not an unwelcome one. There’s no _need_ for all of this you know. If you just ..."

" _Never,_ " he interrupted. "You want my soul? You’re gonna have to take it from me."

"Oh," she chuckled, "I _will_. Believe me." She lifted her hand, clenching her fingers - and the torch simply snuffed out, leaving him with nothing but a smoldering, smoking stick. "You might have won _this_ fight - but you can’t keep moving forever. Time is your enemy. You can run - but you can’t hide. Not from me. Not _here._ Sooner or later the shadows will find you. How long will you last? An hour? A day? A _week?_ Your strength will fail you in the end. And then you’ll be mine." 

"Never," he repeated tightly. It was a bold and empty boast and they both knew it - but he made it anyway, determined not to give in without a fight. Then he tossed the useless torch away and fled down the path into the suspect sanctuary of the twisted forest.

Hecate’s peal of laughter followed him into the night.

* * *

_Well - you could have handled **that** better ..._

Iolaus skidded to a halt a good distance from the clearing, and stood for a moment, trying to regain his breath. His heart was pounding like a wardrum, and he was trembling from head to foot. It had all been just too _much_ \- the suffocating nothingness, his arrival in Hecate’s realm - and _her_ ...Not to mention the skirmish with his own shadows, which had to have been the weirdest battle he’d ever had to fight.

The thought lifted his head and had him spinning round in wary alarm. Even here - deep in beneath the angled limbs of distorted trees - there was enough light to cast _some_ shadows. It was a dim, end of twilight kind of light, like the tail end of winter dusk just after the sun has finally set and moments before the stars begin to creep out. But it _was_ light - and it threw half glimpsed, barely defined shadows that filled the spaces beneath the trees and pooled their roots with an almost tangible darkness.

Nothing seemed to be stirring among the gnarled trunks, but he kept in motion anyway, just in case something settled long enough to discover it _could._

_Got to keep on the move ..._

He jogged on down the path, since he had absolutely no idea what menace might be lurking in among the trees. He didn’t know what lay along the path either, but at least he’d have a chance to see it coming. The gravel track ran straight as die in either direction, as perfectly aligned as any road in Rome. It was wide enough to take three horses abreast, and the gravel was deep, scrunching and giving way beneath each step. Now that he had more time to look around, he could see that his initial impression of weirdness in the landscape was something of an understatement. If this _was_ a forest it was unlike any that he’d ever seen before. For one thing the trees were squat, malformed things, twisted and distorted from the roots upwards. None of them were taller than the average olive tree, and most were a lot shorter than that. For another thing, their leaves - what few there were on the scraggy, tangled branches - were various shades of black and gray. Some of them as black as the short cropped turf that washed up to the side of the road and flooded the forest’s roots.

"Now _that’s_ weird," he muttered, reaching up to tug away one of the long knife bladed leaves from a branch that dangled over his head. The tree gave a little yelp of pain.

_Whoa ..._

Iolaus leapt sideways in startlement, spinning round and half jogging backwards for a way so that he could keep the tree in sight. Its branches were quivering, even though there was no wind to speak of. What’s more, the reaction was spreading, running from tree to tree in a rustle of what sounded like indignation.

"You must be new here."

The sound of the voice spun him round a second time. A figure had stepped out onto the roadway ahead, one leaning on a staff and cloaked and cowled in a heavy, dark gray, homespun robe. Iolaus halted his forward momentum and began to nervously pace back and forward across the width of the path instead. "Uh - yeah," he admitted warily, glancing around just in case the man (or whatever it was) was not alone. "I - ah - just arrived."

"I can tell." The figure had a quavery, ancient sounding voice that sounded as rough as the gravel beneath their feet. "Around here it’s rather bad manners to pick the leaves off the trees. They strive so hard to grow them, you know? And it hurts to lose them. How would you like it if I just reached out and tugged away a handful of your hair?"

"Uh - I wouldn’t I guess." Iolaus glanced down at the leaf in his hand. It had a soft, leathery feel, quite unlike any leaf he’d ever held before - and the end of the stem was oozing a dark ichor that looked just like blood ... 

_Gods._

Revelation struck him with a hammer blow. _I **sculpt** souls_ , Hecate had claimed. Into _what_ she hadn’t said - but now he realised that he’d been looking at her handiwork ever since he’d arrived. Each of those distorted, twisted trees had once been as human as he was. He let the leaf fall from his hand, shaking it away it with a sense of both horror and guilt. "Uh - _sorry_ ," he called, speaking to his unknown victim, but directing the apology out into the general air. "I had no idea. Really." The rustling indignation which had been building around him quieted almost immediately. " _Really_ ," he repeated, turning back to the cowled figure, who was poking at the gravel with the end of his staff.

"They believe you," the old voice wheezed, sounding a little as if it were laughing. "So do I. For one thing, nobody who belongs here would be _that_ inconsiderate. And for another, you have very little taint of _her_ about you. Which means you either haven’t met her yet - or if you _have,_ that you’ve been foolish enough to defy her." The owner of the voice paused to draw in a ragged breath that might have been a chuckle before it added: "Or is that _brave_ enough? Hard to tell sometimes ... will you _stop_ that!"

"Stop what?" Iolaus asked, watching the landscape as much as the figure in it. He’d caught distant movement out of the corner of his eye; an undulating, liquid movement which had disturbed the darkness under the twisted branches - and had raised a soft sigh from the trees as it passed. He took another jittery pace sideways and found himself stopped in his tracks by the sturdy staff, which it’s owner had thrust out with a strength that defied the figure’s overwhelming suggestion of age.

"All that pacing about. Backwards and forwards, twist and turn - Olympus _sake_ , young man, you should stand still when your elders are talking to you!"

"I _can’t_ ," the hunter growled, hastily stepping back and making it even hastier when the staff swung after him, wielded with irritation. He threw a wary glance over his shoulder and heaved a heavy sigh. "You’re right," he said, deciding that the old man - if that’s what he _was_ -was at least someone to talk too, if not to trust. "I met her. I defied her. She cursed me - or something. Anyway - if I stand _still_ , I’m gonna get jumped by my own shadows. Which would make it kinda hard to be sociable," he added with an exasperated shrug.

"Mmm," the old voice considered, acknowledging the problem. "I suppose it would, at that. But if you _don’t_ stand still, you’re going to wear yourself out in no time ... Ah. But that’s the idea, isn’t it? Either way, she gets you in the end."

"Yeah." Iolaus heaved another sigh. He’d already figured that one out. "Tell me something I _don’t_ know ..."

"Well," his company considered, taking the muttered irony as a literal request, "for a start - if you’re looking for the way out, then you’re heading in the wrong direction." 

_What?_

The hunter’s attention had started to drift away again; there really _was_ something moving under the trees, something that was rippling it’s way back and forth. And which seemed to be getting closer. But the old man’s words reclaimed his full attendance; he took a step closer in his eagerness to be sure he heard him right. "You know a way - ?"

"For another," the quavering voice continued blithely, "you’ve got _her_ all wrong. Well. _Half_ wrong, I should say. She’s not _all_ bad. In fact, she has decided moments. But - she does like to play games. Although she always break the rules. Even when she’s made them up herself.

"I’ll tell you something," the old man added, leaning forward with conspiratorial closeness. Iolaus echoed the movement, drawn by the suggestion of confidence, of being offered something he wasn’t supposed to know. He still couldn’t see into the draped hood, but the hand that lifted to poke at his shoulder seemed human enough. "She always wants most what she can’t get. When she _has_ something she gets bored with it, pretty quickly - and she forgets her _old_ toys as soon as she has something new to entertain her. So the best you can do is stay out of her reach until someone or something else comes along to distract her."

_Well, **that** makes sense ..._

"Any idea how?" he asked, sufficiently intrigued to come to a momentary forgetful halt . The old man gave him a push that staggered him backwards.

"Well, you can _start_ by remembering to keep _moving_." The quavery voice held a decidedly irritated note. "The best way out is the way _in_. The only way back is forward. Hide yourself in plain sight - and remember that, until you are free from the curse that sent you here, you will always have a choice ahead of you, no matter _what_ it looks like.

"Choose wisely." The figure was somehow collapsing in on itself, fabric folding into fabric as though the form it draped was simply melting away. "Choose _well_. And - never give up, no matter _what!"_

The last was warning as well as advice - Iolaus leapt back in alarm as a river of darkness poured itself out from under the trees and crushed the now empty fabric beneath its weight. A massive, menacing serpent reared up in front of him, emitting an evil hiss, the spearhead of a whole _flood_ of such creatures which were swarming onto the path.

_Gods!_

He didn’t have time to consider his options. He took one look and immediately took off, running helter skelter down the road. The avalanche of serpents turned as if they were one creature and quickly slithered in pursuit ...

* * *

_Keep moving._

_Yeah. **Right ...**_

His heart was hammering to escape his chest. His lungs were heaving for air and his legs were screaming at him to _stop_. He’d been running for what felt like hours, with the menacing slither and hiss of his pursuers hot on his heels. The gravel filled track had led him out from under the trees and on into an empty landscape where steep rolling downs led off on either side. His initial instinct had been to look for place to turn aside, hoping for a chance to lose his unlikely hunters in rougher ground; but he’d quickly realised that he’d cover that kind of terrain a lot more slowly than _they_ would - and the road was still his best chance, even if he had no idea where it might be taking him.

He risked a glance over his shoulder, and wished he hadn’t bothered; the river of darkness that poured along the track behind him was filled with the gleam of hungry, evil eyes.

_Don’t these things ever get tired?_

_He_ certainly did. Every pounding step was now sending a screech of pain up leaden legs, and every breath was laced with fire. But he dare not stop. Terror surged in his wake, filled with unspeakable menace. Iolaus didn’t know what the serpents would do if they caught him - but he had absolutely no wish to find out.

_This_ , he gasped to himself, _is what you get - for thinking - you can -defy -the **gods!**_

He didn’t quite have the hubris to think that Hera would take much more than a passing interest in his fate, but he had no doubt it would amuse her to know it. The best friend of her hated stepson a hunted man in her sister’s kingdom - a little icing on the cake of her pleasure at having wiped out Hercules’ family. He gritted his teeth and lengthened his stride; he’d no intention of giving either goddess any kind of satisfaction. No doubt Hecate thought his submission was only a matter of time, but there _was_ a way out. She’d admitted as much.

_For someone in your position, there’s only one escape from my kingdom - and it’s one you’ll never risk. Nobody ever does ..._

He wasn’t _nobody._ He was Iolaus, the son of Skorous, and best friend to the son of Zeus. He was also a seasoned warrior, an Argonaut, _and_ practically the best hunter in the whole of Greece. There wasn’t _anything_ he wouldn’t risk.

Was there?

If he’d had breath to spare for it, he have laughed at his own bravado. Hecate was right. His pride _was_ his weakness - but then again, his self confidence was one of his greatest strengths; without it, without his _believing_ in himself, he’d be nothing more than the sniveling weakling his father had always labeled him.

Of course, it was that exact same self confidence that had landed him in this mess to begin with ...

The road had begun to dip downwards, the slope giving him a little extra speed and impetus. Ahead, a dark gash cut across the countryside, a barely glimpsed line of shadow in the twilight gloom. 

_A river?_

_No - a gorge ..._

A deep one by the look of it, a rent torn into the fabric of the earth, with steep sides and a gaping mouth, one far too wide to jump. The point where it intersected with the road was marked with the flicker of torches. A quick glance from side to side showed it vanishing in either direction.

_**Now** what do I do?_

He should have turned aside earlier; back when there was still room to run under the trees. Here the ground on either side was littered with stones and tussocks of dark grass with leaves like sword blades. He’d not last three minutes in _that_ country. He couldn’t stop - and he could hardly just run pell-mell over the edge of a cliff. Could he?

If he jumped, he’d die. But then, he was already dead in a way; trapped between life and death, Hecate had said. _Could_ he die, here in her country? Or would he survive the fall to find himself a broken thing, lying at the bottom of the gorge and waiting for his own shadows to come and carry him away?

Either way, it was going to _hurt._

_But still better than the serpents,_ he decided, risking another of those glances over his shoulder and shivering at what he saw. They painted the road behind him for as far as he could see; a shimmering river of black scales and red eyes. The promise in those eyes added a further spurt to his speed.

_They’ll eat me alive._

_Chew me up and spit me out in pieces, ready for Hecate to turn me into something else._

_Like one of **them**_

_Or one of those trees …_

He hurt so much now that the prospect of leaping into the gorge was almost an enticing one. He was almost at the edge of it before he realised that the torches illuminated an ornate bridge. Or a piece of one at least; at one time the road had crossed the chasm on a wooden track as wide as the main path. One end - the nearest - had rotted away, leaving only one supporting rail to bridge the gap. On the far side, some of the wider planks remained, jagged teeth jutting out across the fissure. They looked about as solid as wet parchment.

But the gap they left looked narrow enough to jump.

Iolaus didn’t stop to think about it. He saw his chance and he took it, picking up speed and summoning a reserve of energy that had nothing to do with physical ability and everything to do with the strength of his heart. With the tongues of the serpents licking at his heels he ran straight to the edge of the gorge and leapt out, his arms and legs desperately flailing for distance.

_"Whooaaaooaaaa_!"

His cry echoed and re-echoed across a land cloaked in silences. Winged things, that had the shape of birds but the shadows of stranger creatures, took flight in alarm. The torchlight fluttered, filling the yawning space beneath him with dancing shadows. The jump seemed endless, a slow, gut clenching flight in which the promise and the temptation of the broken bridge seemed to be utterly beyond his reach -

\- and then he was suddenly tangling with the jagged planks, wrapping panicked arms around their splintered surfaces, not caring how they bruised his exhausted body, just they there were there and solid, and somehow holding his weight ...

* * *

The bottom of the ravine was cloaked with a dark swirling mist. Iolaus found himself dangling above the drop, half jammed into a gap between two rotting boards and watching as a river of serpents streamed over the edge of the cliff to vanish into the darkness below. Their descent seemed endless, a waterfall of wriggling bodies that tumbled and writhed as it fell. They went with a hiss, a sound that made his blood run cold.

Several of them had impetus enough to try the jump. One even got far enough to sink fanged teeth into his boot. He hastily kicked it free, wincing as its muscular body whipped up in an attempt to wrap itself around his leg. Its touch reminded him of the shifting embrace of the She-Demon, and he shuddered, wondering just what the creatures would have done, had they caught up with him.

His dangling position was dangerous, for all sorts of reasons; he struggled and heaved and eventually managed to pull himself up over the jagged edge of the broken wood until he was sprawling face down, shaking and exhausted, on the musty rotting boards. Torchlight played across him, but he ignored it for a moment, reveling in the bliss of _rest_. His legs ached. His lungs panted fire, and his head was spinning. 

"This," the hunter decided, gasping each word between a gulped and desperate breath, "is _not_ fun."

He heaved a heavy sigh and rolled over onto his back; he begrudged having to make the effort, but he knew he’d be in trouble if he didn’t. He let his eyes close for a moment and relaxed back against the wood, giving himself every precious second he could muster to recover his breath and re-center his strength. It was no good just _running_. It was getting him absolutely nowhere - and he was already pretty exhausted. If he didn’t change tactics soon then he _would_ get to the point where he’d be happy for the shadows to drag him back to face Hecate’s tender mercies. 

_Which will be neither tender, nor merciful,_ he reminded himself, thinking of the twisted trees with a decided shudder. A whisper of chilled air moved beneath his shoulder blades and he tensed, holding himself perfectly still - until he felt the shadow slide out and rise up, taking some of his sweated heat with it as it went. _Then_ he rolled over, and - as he landed back on his back - he spun, tucking both legs up and then kicking out with all his strength. The soles of his boots struck the creature hard in the chest just as it lunged forward. The impact was bone shuddering, but it staggered the shadow backwards. One step, two - and it found itself poised precariously at the edge of the broken bridge, its translucent arms desperately flailing for balance.

Iolaus bounced to his feet and helped it the rest of the way, sending it tumbling over the brink with a casual push from one finger. "Sucker," he muttered, with a perverse sense of satisfaction. That moment of rest had been worth the risk; the shadow creatures might be strong, and they might be fast, but they didn’t seem to be all that bright - in any sense of the word.

_Time **you** started using a few smarts, Iolaus._

He paced back and forth across the bridge while he pondered his options, trying to ignore the way the shadows thrown by the torches loomed large and menacingly on the wall of the ravine. There weren’t that many choices open to him. He could stop where he was, let the shadows take him, and find out what the Queen of Air and Darkness had in mind for him. He could keep on going, heading deeper and deeper into the weird landscape of Hecate’s netherworld until his strength ran out and the shadows took him anyway - or he could find the way out, escaping her realm and _her_ all at once.

_You’ll never risk it ..._

Risk _what?_ What danger could he possibly face that would be worse than losing his soul to her desires?

"You’ll wear these boards out, you know. Pacing like that."

The hunter spun, dropping briefly into a defensive pose before recognising both the voice and the speaker; on the other side of the gorge a cloaked figure was leaning against the broken supports of the bridge, the hood still pulled down low over its owner’s face.

"Who _are_ you?" Iolaus demanded, resuming his restless progress from side to side.

"A friend," came the answer, delivered with a small wheezy chuckle. "Or the nearest thing you have to one - around here, at any rate."

"How do I know that? Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn’t." The words were amused. "Not if you’ve got any sense. Can’t trust anyone - or anything - down here. Nothing’s what it seems. Not even you."

"Oh, that’s a _lot_ of help," the hunter muttered, not at all reassured by the conversation. For all he knew this was just another of Hecate’s games. "What is it you want with me?"

"Just a little of your time. Say - the rest of your life?"

_That_ sounded ominous. Iolaus studied the hooded figure with an anxious frown. "I don’t - have that to give," he pointed out, taking a couple of steps back as well as sideways. "I mean, I’m kinda stuck between the life and death thing and - "

"Up to you," the old man shrugged. "It’s not a lot to ask for. Not around here. I’ll tell you what - I’ll point you in the right direction and you can decide when you get there. Serve her, help me - or help yourself."

"That’s fair. I guess." The hunter wasn’t entirely sure what he was agreeing too, but something told him that taking this old man’s advice was a safer bet than all of Hecate’s up front enticements. "Doesn’t exactly sound like a difficult choice," he added, half under his breath. 

"You’d be surprised." The hooded figure stepped back and rapped its staff imperiously against the one intact rail. "Now get back over here. I told you you were heading in the wrong direction. The best way out is the way _in_. The only way back is forward, and ..."

"Hide yourself in plain sight," Iolaus quoted with irritation. "You said that already. But I don’t know what it _means_."

"You will." The staff rapped on the wood a second time. "Are you coming, or not?"


	2. Chapter 2

The trip back across the gorge was just as heart stopping as the first had been, although for different reasons. He did it a step at a time, keeping a precarious balance on a beam barely wider than a sword blade. The wood creaked under his weight and the wind that flicked the torches into fluttering flame cut across his shoulders like a cold knife. He tried not to look down - _down_ was a long way to go, filled with mist and shadows and the squirm of serpentine bodies - but it was hard not to want to, to keep his eyes fixed on the flutter of dark fabric that cloaked his nameless and faceless company.

The hunter walked the distance with his heart in his mouth, his hands out stretched and his body trembling for balance. One mis-step and he’d undoubtedly find the answer to all the questions that were currently swirling through his mind.

The hard way.

"Well," the old man observed as he arrived thankfully back on solid ground, "you’ve got guts, I’ll say that. Don’t think _I’d_ want to trust the safety of my soul to an illusion."

_What?_

Iolaus stared at him, then turned, in time to see the beam that had just served as his roadway shimmer away into non-existence. As did the bridge, which faded from the inside out, solid wood becoming misted outlines before they too vanished into nothingness. Only the flickering torches remained.

"But - " he protested, taking a half step forward to wave his hand through the patch of empty air that - only a moment before - had been a solid pillar beside the ornate torch. "I don’t understand."

"Obviously." The hooded figure turned and began to trudge along the road, heading back towards the twisted trees and the grove they contained. The bemused hunter stood for a moment - absently swaying a little to keep his shadows moving - staring out at the now empty ravine, then quickly turned and jogged after him, his feet crunching in the deep gravel. The old man’s steps were making no sound at all.

"I told you nothing was what it seemed around here," the ancient voice was saying as Iolaus caught up with its owner. "She’s always redecorating. Doesn’t always have time to make the scenery real. Doesn’t need to a lot of the time. For _her_ , the shadow of the thing is more important than the thing itself."

"That’s crazy," Iolaus frowned. "Shadows don’t have any substance."

"They do _here_." The answer held a note of irritation. "These _are_ the shadowlands. The darkness cast by the light of life. This is the place where the nightmares are born. The ones that lurk at the edges of ignorance. Monsters. Creatures existing without shape or certainty until someone chooses to _give_ them a face or a voice."

"That right?" the hunter muttered, nervously checking out the darkened landscape on either side. "Nice place ..."

"It’s a _wonderful_ place," the old man snapped impatiently. "Do you know what the darkness of ignorance hides?"

"You just said - "

"Monsters, yes. But what do they _guard_ , hmm? Magic. Mysteries. Miracles. _Anything_ is possible here. If you have the heart to make it happen. Like that bridge back there. You _needed_ that."

"What I _need_ ," Iolaus pointed out, "is a way out of here. Can I just - conjure one of _those_ up?"

The hooded figure chuckled softly. "Not that easy," he said. "Not for you. The only way back - "

"- is the way forward. Yeah, yeah, I _know._ But back to what? Forward to where? As far as I know, my mortal body is a lump of stone standing around for the She-Demon to dust. Until - _unless_ \- Herc finds me. And even then, he might not be able to ... _gods._ "

The answer had come to him with quiet revelation; he realised he’d been staring at it all along - and why Hecate might think he’d never risk the ultimate escape from her clutches.

"There _is_ only one way out of here, isn’t there," he said, his blood running cold at the thought. 

"Fraid so." The old man shrugged beneath his voluminous robe. "And nobody ever takes it. Mortals are like that. Clinging to what they know. What they cherish most. Of course," he added matter-of-factly, "you _could_ just keep running until that friend of yours - whatsisname - comes to his senses enough to deal with the important things in his life. But that might take a while. Especially without you around to remind him what _is_ important."

Hercules was probably a long way from Isher, pursing his personal vengeances - and hopefully kicking Hera’s butt while he did it. And the hunter sincerely doubted that anyone _else_ would be able to slay the She-Demon and free her victims from this shadowed netherworld which held them captive. _He_ hadn’t been able to ...

"I’m toast," Iolaus concluded, throwing his arms wide in resignation.

_One way or another._

His current companion sighed. "Your choice. And if you choose the way I _think_ you will, the one that’ll come after will be harder still. But it’s up to you. Hecate’s not _that_ bad, if you keep her amused, you know ..."

"No thanks," Iolaus answered with a small shudder. "I’d rather take my chances ... Well," he corrected with a humourless laugh, "not _chances_ exactly. Choice though. If I really _have_ a choice."

"That depends on how you look at it, I suppose. A lot of people wouldn’t think so. I do. I’m rather hoping you do too."

_A choice ..._

The hunter hunched his shoulders and went on trudging in pensive silence. His stomach, which had been fluttering with unease ever since he’d arrived in this strange place, was busy tying itself into spasmed knots. He had no intention of surrendering his soul to Hecate - but he’d realised that the alternative was equally unthinkable. Which was why he was so desperately thinking about it.

_Hecate has me trapped here._

_A living soul suspended in stone._

_I **can’t** go back. I’ve nothing to go back to. No way to break the spell that binds me._

_But I **could** go on ..._

The step between life and death is a long one. It’s the step mortal souls spend their entire lives trying to avoid. Very few find it an easy step to take - and even fewer take it voluntarily.

But if he wanted to escape the Sorceress, that was _exactly_ what he was going to have to do.

_The best way out is the way **in**. The only way back is forward. Hide yourself in plain sight ..._

The way back to the mortal realm was barred. What remained was the way forward - to the kingdom _Hades_ ruled. No-one would ever look for a living man in the land of the dead.

Because generally the only way to get there - gods, demi-gods, and half immortals excepted - was to _die._

* * *

"Looks like you got what you wanted," Iolaus tried to joke as he and the old man reached the outer edges of the twisted grove. "That bit of my time?" he explained, since all he got was a hooded look and a soft sigh. "You know - just the rest of my life ...?"

"Ah." The acknowledgement was a knowing one. "You’ve made your choice, then?"

"Yeah." The hunter shivered as he said it; it was one thing to charge into battle knowing that you _might_ die before the day was out. But _choosing_ to? That went against every instinct he had.

"Good for you." His company sounded unsettlingly pleased about it. "But don’t dismiss your future just yet. Wait until you’re sure of your options."

"I’ve made up my mind," Iolaus insisted. "When I find the way out of here, I’m taking it. Look - " He circled round to confront his questionable guide, walking backwards as he talked because he had to keep moving. "I don’t who - or _what_ \- you are, and I’ve no idea why you’re helping me. If you _are_ helping me," he considered darkly. "But for some weird reason I believe what you’ve told me - and believe it or not, I’m grateful. So, if there _is_ anything I can do to re-pay you ..."

The hooded figure heaved a soft sigh. "Just promise me one thing," he said.

"Which is - ?"

"That, when the time comes, you’ll weigh need against desire - and choose a path which answers both."

"Oh great. _More_ riddles." Iolaus’ own sigh held a note of frustration. "Okay. You got it. Choose the right path. I can do that."

"Oh, I hope so." The words sounded disconcertingly distant. Once again the cloak was collapsing, folding in on itself as if the shape which it had held were simply fading away. "I _do_ hope so ..."

" _Damn_ ," the hunter swore softly, taking a few forward paces to poke at the crumpled heap of fabric with his foot. "How does he do that? _Why_ does he do that?" he requested immediately afterwards, throwing his arms wide and directing the words towards the general air. The tree branches that arched over his head quivered a little, as if their leaves rustled in a non-existent wind, but he got no other answer.

Which was probably just as well ...

He took a deep breath to steady himself, and then hastily glanced around just in case the event signaled another avalanche of snakes. Nothing seemed to be moving under the trees, so he turned round and trudged on up the path. The effort of the day was beginning to tell; his legs felt like lead weights and he had to force himself to keep moving. "Okay," he muttered. "The way out is the way _in._ So - how exactly did I get here?"

 _That_ was a problem. He didn’t know. He remembered being _nothing_ \- and after that he’d simply arrived; he could recall hearing Hecate’s voice a moment before being aware of anything else, but that wasn’t much help. The sudden return of perception had been disorientating. There hadn’t seemed to be a door, or anything like one. Just the goddess, laughing at him. 

She probably still was.

_There has to be a way ..._

Iolaus was still working on that one when he caught sight of the soft flicker of torch light ahead of him. The clearing beyond it seemed deserted, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He slipped into the suspect protection of the trees and circled round to try and assess what awaited him. The short black turf was spongy underfoot; his boots sank into it, leaving deep impressions that slowly smoothed themselves out again once his weight was removed. That was weird - but no weirder than any other experience he’d had in this darkened, eerie place. 

_Where is she?_

He could feel her, a lurking presence that sent shivers up his spine while stirring other, enticing sensations in the rest of him. It would be too easy to succumb to that siren call, to step out boldly into the torchlight and be lost forever in the curve of predatory arms. A part of him yearned for that surrender, wanting what she offered, no matter what the cost - but he gritted his teeth and resisted the temptation. He would _not_ give up his soul, not to her, not to anyone.

_Stubborn pride, Iolaus._

It might be a flaw in his character but, right now, it was proving to be his greatest defence.

Branches dipped to snag in his hair and tug at his clothing as he passed, reminding him that nothing here was exactly what it seemed. He pulled free of their reaching grip and went on circling, his face creased in quiet determination as he studied the seemingly deserted clearing. It looked as if Hecate _had_ been redecorating, even in the short space of time that he’d been gone. The ornate throne he’d spotted before was gone; in its place was a wide circular couch padded with a shimmer of dark silk and strewn with a scattering of cushions. Draperies of tattered cloth festooned the inner circle of trees and in the middle of the space, just in front of the pool there was a long low table, laden with food. His mouth watered at the sight - and his stomach rumbled, which wasn’t surprising, considering that he’d not really eaten anything since breakfast. 

He frowned at the realisation. This _wasn’t_ the mortal world, and he had no idea if he ought to be feeling hungry or not. Nor could he be sure that anything he found in this realm - no matter how appetising it seemed - would actually be edible. He suspected that eating anything here would not be a sensible thing to do. 

_Oh, but - gods - that smells **good** ..._

Iolaus took a half step forward, and came to his senses just in time. He did _not_ want to leave the shelter of the trees until he was sure of what he had to do; something told him that - once he’d stepped into the open - it wouldn’t take long before she was aware of it. He was going to need all the time he could get, so that he could be certain of his escape.

If he could just figure out how he was supposed to, that was.

The drapes of dark cloth above him rippled slightly as if lifted by a breeze; he glanced around warily, but the goddess seemed to be nowhere in sight. There was no sign of anyone in fact, although he noticed that someone had replaced and re-lit the torch he’d used earlier. It burned and flickered just as strongly as its fellows. Nothing else moved - not even the inky surface of the black pool, which lay undisturbed in the center of the space reflecting distorted images of the torchlight.

Memory tugged at him; recollections of being suspended in nothingness, of being denied movement and air and light.

 _What if ..._ The answer hovered, tantalizingly close, impossibly distant. He nearly had it - and then a flicker of sudden light and movement distracted him. Hecate materialised in the middle of the circular bed, arriving cross legged and lifting her arms in a dramatic, expansive gesture. Iolaus cursed under his breath and quickly ducked back behind the nearest tree. There probably wasn’t much point in trying to hide among the shadows when _she_ was about, but he had no other options. He dropped into a half crouch and went on pacing warily sideways, keeping himself moving while trying desperately to stay out of sight. 

"Ahhh ..." The goddess unfolded from a languid stretch and slid off the padded surface, slinking across the velvet turf to sweep up a goblet from the table. Unseen hands immediately lifted the nearest flagon and filled the ornate cup with some dark liquid. It sparkled as it left the jug. "You’re back sooner than I expected," she observed, smiling into the goblet before taking a delicate sip. "And under your own volition too. Now _that’s_ intriguing." She paused to take another sip, her eyes sweeping the edge of the clearing with a knowing glance. "I had you pegged for the ‘run until you dropped’ type. I’m not often wrong, but - you surprise me. What changed your mind?"

_So much for sneaking away unnoticed ..._

"I didn’t," he answered warily, straightening up and taking a reluctant step out into the open space. "But - uh - something told me I was running in the wrong direction."

"Some _thing_ \- or someone?" she wondered, stepping back so that she could sink onto the edge of the couch and drape herself there enticingly. Iolaus swallowed hard, acutely aware of the way her dress had fallen back to reveal a shapely leg and thigh - and of the way his body had reacted to the sight. He’d been taking those careful, sideways paces; it took him a moment to realise that he’d also moved a good distance forward without being aware of it. Hecate laughed at his expression.

"Poor, _poor,_ Iolaus," she purred, patting the soft silk at her side with an seductive hand. "Trying so hard. And he’s _so_ tired. Wouldn’t it be nice to rest? _I_ could keep the shadows away. Just for a little while?"

_Rest?_

Exhaustion spiraled up to seize him. His eyelids drooped. His body ached with effort. He could have just dropped where he stood ...

_No!_

He jerked himself awake, taking a desperate and stumbling step backwards. The effort was admirable, although the execution left a lot to be desired. He tripped, ending up sprawled across the turf and fighting for a strength which seemed to have deserted him.

"Oops," the goddess laughed amused at both his struggle and his stumble. "You know - I’d get up if I were you. You’re casting shadows down there ..." 

He cursed and rolled sideways with determined effort, feeling the chill touch of a shadow warrior slide out from under him as he did so. The old man had _lied._ There _was_ no way out. Nor could he fight the Sorceress, not her at the heart of her domain. He’d been tricked into returning by the promise of a hopeless hope.

Hadn’t he?

His exertions had brought him to the paved edge of the pool. Stone dug into his shoulder blades and he dragged himself up, only to collapse again in a limp heap right at the very edge of the water. Another shadow slid away from him, pulling heat with it. He was shivering, shaking with fatigue; darkness loomed over him in silent menace.

"Quickly," he heard the goddess command, a sudden sense of urgency in her voice. "Don’t let him get to close."

_Too close?_

_**Gods** ..._

Comprehension struck him like a blow. With it came a surge of stubborn stamina; there _was_ a way out, and he was going to take it. No matter _where_ it led. He kicked out against the shadowed hands that reached for him, wriggling and squirming like a furious otter, determined not to be held. They closed in, cloaking him in darkness - and under the cover of that darkness he twisted, rolled over -

\- and plunged deep into the inky waters of the black pool. 

* * *

The water was cold. _Ice_ cold, filled with swirling currents that caught him and dragged him down before he had time to take breath. Tendrils of force wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, clamping fingers of iron around his chest. He gagged and then choked; liquid surged into his lungs, filling his mouth with bitterness. Somewhere, far away, he heard an angry cry of frustration and loss. He felt ghostly fingers briefly tangle in his hair - and then the suction pulled him deeper still, the startling pain that tugged at his scalp quickly lost in the overwhelming scream that filled his entire existence.

_Gods ..._

He flailed and fought for escape without effect, pummeled and twisted by the surging flood into which he’d been plunged. His body demanded air and breathed in fire and ice instead; the cold liquid strangled his lungs and sent his senses swimming. Darkness claimed him, although this was a darkness filled with taste and terror - not an absence of existence, but almost too _much_ of one. Pain and pressure competed for his attention, hammering him inside and out. He was drowning, and it was taking too long. _Way_ too long. It felt as if it would take forever and he wanted it to _stop_.

Which - abruptly - it did.

Three things registered; a flicker of light, the feel of solid rock beneath his body and cheek - and the impact of something hard prodding at his ribs. The sensation triggered a reactive intake of breath which, in turn, triggered a far more violent reaction. He doubled up, hacking and coughing, and spewed mouthfuls of bitter fluid around desperate gulps for air.

"Huh - whatdaya know? It’s a live one. Hah - as live as we get ‘em down here, anyway." The voice was deep and laced with gravel; the laugh that followed was a grating one. "Didn’t anyone tell ya? The Styx ain’t a safe place to swim. That’s why _I_ got the ferry concession. And don’t think you don’t owe me, just you made it to _this_ side of the river without a boat. I pulled ya out - ya pay me my fare."

_The Styx?_

Iolaus retched the last of the water out of his lungs and took several slow and shaky breaths, his body still tensed for a return of his coughing fit. When it didn’t materialise, he uncurled himself a little, relaxing slowly into the unyielding support of the rocky surface beneath him. His initial impression of the place had been one of light; now he could see that it was really a dark, gloomy place, across which the play of torchlight threw a hazy, purple air. Everything looked decidedly fuzzy, so he blinked and shook his head a little to clear it. There seemed to be -something - only a few inches away from his face. After a moment, the objects concerned swam into focus and he blinked again, this time in disconcerted surprise.

He was staring at a pair of sandals. _Old_ sandals, come to that, their leatherwork cracked and faded. They were peeking from beneath a dark robe, the fabric of which seemed to be encrusted with dust and cobwebs. That was bad enough, but the feet were even worse; sickly, jaundiced flesh clung to bony toes, each of which supported a blackened, purple nail.

"Ewww," the hunter reacted, hastily sitting up and scrabbling back a little. The feet took a step backwards too; the heavy fabric above them rustled with a sound like dry bones being rubbed together.

"What?" the gravel filled voice barked. " _What?"_

"Ah - " Iolaus looked up, finally getting a good look at his rescuer. He’d half been expecting to see the hooded old man - but the face that awaited him was straight out of a nightmare. _"A-ahh!_ "

" _What?"_ the voice demanded a third time, the features that spawned it creasing with decided impatience. "You got water in your brains? You’re _dead_ , okay? What did you expect? Golden light and choirs of heavenly creatures? This is _Greece,_ ya schlub. You’re in the underworld and you got _me_. Sheesh," he concluded, "I shoulda left ya to sink!"

The hunter closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to slow the startled pounding of his heart. When he opened his lids again, the cadaverous figure was still there, glowering at him with deep set, bloodshot eyes above his bulbous, hooked nose. He had the kind of face only a mother could love - if this creature ever _had_ a mother, that is. "I’m dead," Iolaus considered warily. "I’m _dead_?" The pock marked face nodded, blue grey lips twisting in impatient disbelief. " _Yes!"_ he crowed, acknowledging triumph with clenched fists and a broad grin.

"Water on the brain." The ferryman rolled his eyes and sighed, poking at the hunter’s boots with the end of his pole. The skulls at the other end of it clattered discordantly. "You’re dead. D. E. A. D. _Dead_. Get it? Nobody’s _ever_ pleased about that."

"I am," Iolaus declared happily, scrambling to his feet and looking around with interest. The rock walls curved overhead, creating a craggy cavern. To his right was a river - a deep, fast flowing river which vanished into gloom in both directions. There was a boat, moored up against a rickety jetty and lit - like the surface of the water - by two flickering torches. The rich, lurid light danced over skeletal decorations; the vessel was decorated to match its master, who by now was staring at the hunter with total incredulity.

"Looney tunes," Charon muttered, shaking his head. "No wonder he was trying to _swim ..._ "

"No - " Iolaus waved his hands to interrupt him. "No, you don’t understand. I didn’t come from - over _there_   ..." He gestured at the far side of the river. "I was - somewhere _else ..._ "

"Yeah, yeah. Right." Bloodshot eyes considered him with irritation. "That’s the way it _works,_ chowder-head. You’re alive, you’re dead - you’re there, you’re here ... Happens to everyone. Just that _most_ of them don’t try drowning their sorrows in the river. You could have been swept clear down to Tarterus. Not that I’d _care_ , but - hey - every obol counts on _my_ salary."

The hunter heaved a small sigh, and tried again. "No," he repeated patiently, "It isn’t like that. I - I didn’t jump in - ah, yeah, well, I guess _did_ jump in, but it wasn’t _here_ , it was - somewhere in the Netherworld I think. See - I was trying to get away from Hecate and - "

" _Whoa_ ," the ferryman reacted, taking another step back and giving him a decidedly disturbed look. "You’re not one’ o _her’s_ are ya? ‘Cos if ya _are_ , then I’m gonna have to throw you straight back ..." His eyes narrowed as he lifted his pole and poked warily at a damp shoulder. "You don’t _look_ like one’ o her’s."

"I’m _not_ ," Iolaus responded tightly, catching hold of the end of the pole and pointedly pushing it away. The poke had been hard; almost hard enough to leave bruises. "That’s what I’m trying to _tell_ you. I was sent to her realm, and she tried to take my soul and I - dived into this pool and ... now I’m here."

Charon’s eyes narrowed even further. "You yanking my pole? You gotaway from _her?_ _You_ resisted the Sorceress’ power?"

"Uh - yeah." The hunter tried to sound blasé about it. "Doesn’t everyone?"

The ferryman went on staring for a moment longer - and then he started to laugh, a rough edged, wheezy laugh that sounded creaky from long disuse. "Huh - _huhh._ Everyone. Hah. That’s a good one. _Huh._ "

The laugh wasn’t exactly infectious, but Iolaus joined in politely, despite having no idea what the joke might be. Charon chortled so hard that he choked; the grating sound dissolved into a hacking cough and long, ornately tipped fingers had to slap hard at their owner’s chest to help him regain his breath. The impact raised a cloud of dust.

"Huh," the ferryman wheezed, still amused despite his struggle. "Listen up, wiseguy. _Nobody_ resists the Sorceress. Not even the mighty Zeus. That’s why she’s tucked away where she is - so that her high and mighty sister can keep her beady eye on her _and_ keep her away from the old man. And you’re telling me - _you_ got away from her? You must think yourself pretty hot stuff, huh?"

"I guess," Iolaus agreed warily.

"Well, you ain’t!" Charon shot back, giving him another hard poke with his pole. "’Cos you’re _here_ \- and that means you’re dead, and _that_ ain’t hot. That ain’t even _cool_ , get me?"

"Yeah." The warrior didn’t really need the reminder, but it was sobering all the same. He sank onto the nearest rock and heaved a heavy sigh. "I didn’t have a lot of choice."

"Mmmm." Bloodshot eyes considered him shrewdly for a moment. "No way back, huh?"

"No. Well - ah - maybe. But not from _there._ Not until ... ah," Iolaus decided, dismissing the issue with a wave of his hand. "You don’t need my problems."

"Huh," Charon snorted. "you _are_ my problem, short stuff. See - I get _paid_ for bringing people across the river. So you owe me. At least an obol. Probably two. I didn’t _have_ to haul your ass outa the river. And then there's the business with the inventory."

_Short stuff? **Hey** ..._

The bristle was instinctive, and he quelled the reaction with an irritated effort. For one thing, he didn’t think the ferryman meant it personally, but was just in the habit of insulting everybody. For another, Charon appeared to be exactly the same height _he_ was - which made it a rather hollow insult. "What about the inventory?" he asked instead, frowning over how he was meant to pay for his passage when he’d had absolutely no idea that he’d be taking it in the first place. It wasn’t as if he had a corpse that anyone was going to bury.

"You came here from the netherworld? Then you won’t be on it. Souls that go _there_ don’t get into the paperwork. They just get signed off once a year. As _lost_ ," the ferryman added pointedly.

"Oh." That was an even more sobering thought. He’d come _that_ close ... "So - if I’m not in the inventory - where am I supposed to go?"

Charon shrugged. "Wherever ya like, I guess. Just keep your head low when the Boss decides to audit. Tell ya what," he decided, leaning forward and darting his eyes to either side in conspiratorial fashion. "Just behind those rocks - the ones over there - there’s a door that leads straight into the Elysian fields. You slip through there - you’ll be home free. I mean - _I_ ain’t seen ya. You’re not on my passenger list."

Iolaus had reached to rub at an oddly sore spot on the side of his head and had been distracted by the fact that his fingers came back tainted with blood. Blood diluted by river water perhaps, but blood nonetheless. It seemed that he’d - quite literally - managed to slip through Hecate’s fingers by the skin of his teeth. "I’m not?" he queried, responding to the last sentence with a moment of puzzlement. 

**_What_** _did he say?_ _Something about Elysium ..._

Charon sighed. Heavily. "If you’re not on the _inventory_ ," he pointed out sarcastically. "How in Tarterus could you could get on my passenger list?"

"Good point." The hunter had finally deciphered the rest of the earlier statements. He turned to stare at the spot the ferryman had indicated. As far as he could see, it looked just like any _other_ rock formation. But Charon had said there was a door ... "Hey," Iolaus realised, turning back to stare at his company with wary affront. "If I’m not on your list, how can I owe you money? I’m not even meant to be here."

"Ah." Heavy brows furrowed together into a thoughtful frown. "But you crossed the Styx ..."

"No, I didn’t. I arrived _in_ it. But I never crossed it."

"Oh." The ferryman clearly hadn’t thought of that. "I still hauled ya _outta_ it, right?"

"Well, yeah." Iolaus couldn’t argue with that. "But - you just said ..."

"I _said_ , I hadn’t seen ya. Doesn’t mean you get the advice for free." Charon started to put out his hand , then stopped and pulled it back. " _Wait_ a minute. If you’re not on the list, then anything ya pay me would be over fare rate. And the Boss records all the sacrifices so - if _I_ got audited ..." He gave a sudden snort, as if he’d just seen through a card trick. "Ahh, no," he grinned. It was a evil looking expression. "Ya don’t get me that way. Sneak in if ya wanna - but don’t misbalance my books. Takes _eternity_ to explain away discrepancies." The grin faded. Pallid features creased back into lines of doubt. "But then - I _did_ save your butt from Tarterus ..."

"Hey," the hunter found him a sympathetic smile. "I’m grateful. Believe me. Look - " He took pity on the hooded figure. It couldn’t be much of a life, ferrying dead souls across this dark and uninviting river. Not that it was a _life_ exactly ... "If I get - _back -_ I’ll ...I’ll send you a sacrifice, okay? An amphora of wine - or a wheel of cheese. You like cheese?"

"I _love_ cheese," Charon sighed. "But this is a one way trip. You’re not _goin’_ back. Nobody ever does."

He had a point. Iolaus frowned, considering his options. He didn’t seem to have many. "I know," he said after a moment. "If I can sneak into Elysium, then I can just as easily sneak out again. How about I bring some cheese from _there_."

"Would ya? I’d ‘preciate that. Course - you’ll _forget_ , but - okay." The ferryman shrugged. " _Huh_. That’s the way it goes. Now get. Scram. Skedaddle. _I_ got work to do."

"I won’t forget," the warrior promised, dodging the encouraging poke from the battered pole. "And - thanks."

"Yeah, yeah," Charon dismissed testily. "Goodness o’ my heart, moment of weakness, that sort of stuff. Dead guys. Sheesh. Who’d have _my_ job?" He turned and shuffled back towards his boat, muttering to himself as he went. Iolaus sat and watched him as he clambered into the vessel and pushed it off into the swiftly flowing river. Despite the fierceness of the water, the boat drifted away in a serene and steady glide - moving _against_ the current. "Got away from Hecate. Huh." The gravelled voice faded into the distance, leaving a ghostly echo of a wheezing laugh. " _Huh!_ "

And the hunter was left utterly alone.

* * *

_I **think** it was this rock ..._

The formation he was looking at did seem to be a little different from the rest of the misshapen, oddly sculptured arrangement of rocks that littered the edges of the cavern. It had a jutting spike that pierced the ceiling and which supported a fretwork of finer stone draperies, and its lower half was rippled into a series of narrow ridges so that it looked like a huge melted candle. The place where he’d arrived had had a harsh, jagged edge, as if it had been hammered out of solid rock and then shattered by giant hands, but in this particular corner the stone had a smoother, mellower appearance. Water was slowly dripping from stalactites that hung over head, and there was a soft phosphorescence gleaming from the dampened surfaces. There was an odd scent too - a faint whisper of incense or wood smoke.

But no door. 

Iolaus frowned, wondering if he’d misunderstood the ferryman’s words - or at least misread the direction in which he’d been pointed. It had taken much longer to cross the distance then he’d expected it to; the river seemed a long way away, and its constant roaring of sound was now no more than a soft muted rumble. Going back to check directions didn’t seem to be an option, especially since he might end up waiting a long time before Charon returned to the dock. He was tired - _bone_ tired, worn out by his exertions in the Nether realm and his struggle to escape it. He didn’t want to walk another inch, let alone trudge all the way back to the Styx ...

"Iolaus," he told himself wearily, "you _are_ a chowder head."

It had finally sunk in. There was no one chasing him _here_. The spell that had torn away his shadows and endowed them with unnatural life would have no power in Hades’ realm. He was safe. He was also _dead_ , but - right there and then - that seemed a very small price to pay for the chance to rest and catch his breath. 

_Better to make it somewhere out of the way, though ..._ Charon had implied that he didn’t exactly belong in this place, and stretching out - for however short a time - in an exposed spot might not be such a good idea. He heaved a exhausted sigh and started to clamber onto the base of the rock candle; there seemed to be a dark space behind it, which didn’t look too inviting but would serve to conceal him from any passer by. This was the Underworld; almost anyone or any _thing_ might wander by.

The climb up was easy; the folded ridges of rock formed a narrow stepped stairway and the draped stone above it offered plenty of handholds. The hunter heaved himself up the short distance, swung his weary body round the main stem of the formation - 

\- and found himself tumbling down a softly turfed slope, rolling over and over with nothing to hold onto and no strength to stop himself. He landed at the bottom of a shallow hill, his head spinning and all the air driven from his lungs. The breath he drew to fill them set his senses swimming; the air was sweet and warm and drenched in a rich perfume made from flowers, herbs, spices, baking bread - every wonderful scent he had ever tasted and dozens more. 

_Wow ..._

He closed his eyes and took another long, lingering breath. Not only did it _taste_ good, but the heady mixture seemed to permeate every inch of him, washing away the weight of his fatigue and replacing it with a tingling surge of energy.

_Oh **wow** ..._

Another breath. Another. He could have been content to lie like that and simply _breathe_ for the rest of eternity - except that his fourth such breath was violently expelled as something heavy bounced enthusiastically right in the middle of his stomach.

" _Anacles_ ," he complained, both the weight and the bounce intimately familiar. He sat up to catch hold of the giggling toddler, hefting the child off the more sensitive parts of his anatomy and holding him aloft with patient amusement. "How many times do I have to tell you - " The words died in his throat. His hands tightened convulsively. "An- _anacles_?"

The boy giggled again, wriggling and kicking like a hooked fish. Iolaus stared, unable to speak, forgetting even to breathe. A pert and perfect cherub was smiling back at him, his warm hazel eyes brimming with indisputable mischief. There was no question, no mistake; this was his _son_ \- the child he’d nursed while the poison ran its course, the child he’d held so desperately, praying for him to live yet savaged by each spasm and uncomprehending cry. The boy hadn’t known, hadn’t understood what was happening to him - and his father, who’d known but hadn’t wanted to believe it, had gone _on_ holding him, long after all the light and the warmth had gone ...

"Daddy make _funny_ face," Anacles laughed, making one right back at him; a cheeky, pursed lips, rolled back eyes kind of face that quickly collapsed into another set of giggles. Iolaus choked, torn between laughter and tears; he pulled the boy into a fierce hug, holding him the way he had held him _then -_ feeling his sturdy body pressed against him, burying his face in that impossible tumble of dark curls. "Daddy?"

His heart was too full to speak; he simply tightened his embrace, and Anacles shrugged and hugged back, stretching his arms wide and nuzzling into his father’s neck with a happy sigh. 

_Gods ..._

Emotion overwhelmed him; Iolaus began to laugh for the sheer joy of it, his tears brimming free as he rocked the child, holding him close, wanting to _never_ let go of him again. The boy joined in the laughter, his youthful giggles counter-pointing the hunter’s own.

"Somebody sounds happy."

_Ania?_

He lifted his head, finding a familiar face smiling at him, her slender form draped in a white dress. Her hair hung loose and she was crowned with flowers, but she was still his Ania, still the sweet, simple soul who’d enchanted his heart and turned his entire world upside down. She laughed at his expression, dipping forward to plant a soft kiss on his damp cheek. "So nice to have you home," she announced, her eyes twinkling with pleasure. "Especially since we weren’t expecting you. Anacles, you don’t have to hug your father _that_ hard. He needs to breathe occasionally."

"Play _horsie_ ," the boy demanded, wriggling free from the hunter’s arms and starting to clamber onto his shoulders. Iolaus lifted him up almost absently, swinging him round as he rose from the ground; bare feet tucked into his armpits and infant fingers tangled painfully in his hair. Just this once he didn’t _care_. He reached out and gathered the child’s mother into a hug almost as fierce as the one he had just abandoned. Ania laughed, wrapping her arms around him - and reaching, as she did so, to discourage those grasping fingers.

"Play nice," she murmured, then grinned at her husband. "You too."

"Don’t I always?" he breathed, leaning in to kiss her.

"Not sure I can remember now," she teased, kissing back with enthusiasm. "You’ve been away so _long_."

The reminder - meant as a playful joke - jerked a sudden note of reality back into his wonderful dream. _He_ hadn’t been away. She had. She’d been taken away from him, just as Anacles had been taken; they were _dead_ \- and so was he, standing in the Elysium fields, with a ghost in his arms and another tugging at his ear  ...

"Iolaus?" Ania questioned, with the same wary note of concern that Anacles had used at his father’s emotional reaction. He pulled back a little and stared at her; she stared back with puzzlement. "Something wrong?" 

Anacles whooped, digging in his heels and bouncing energetically on his shoulders. The woman under his hands was warm and solid and utterly real \- as real as _he_ was. Iolaus let out a snort of laughter and kissed her again, soundly and with confident affection. "No," he assured her, glancing up at his son with a proud grin. "Not any more."

* * *

They walked together for a while, just being a family. Anacles grew bored with his piggy back ride and scrambled down to run in the grass and chase butterflies; Iolaus loosed him reluctantly, contenting himself with tucking his arm around his wife’s waist and walking with her like that, side by side. The boy whooped and ran and martialled invisible armies. His mother kept him close, calling him back with amused words and distracting him whenever he was tempted to wander. And his father - his father walked in a daze, walking in paradise, breathing the sweet air of Elysium.

It was like being in a dream. Everything was utterly perfect; the grass beneath his feet was soft and the breeze that wafted across the world did so with a soft caress that felt as gentle as a mother’s hands. Blossom drifted from some of the trees as they passed beneath them. Others offered sweet ripe fruits whose juices tasted like nectar and honey. There was even music in the air; somewhere, close by, impossibly far away, someone was singing. 

"I know that song," Iolaus realised in wonderment. It held a haunting familiarity, a sound that tugged at memory and stirred the layers of contentment that had settled over his heart. Ania laughed, taking his hand and leading him down the hillside, while Anacles broke into a run, heading for the source of the sound with eagerness.

_I **know** that song ..._

He knew the singer too. They arrived at the edge of a leafy glade, at one side of which sat a familiar looking building. A pair of laughing boys were wrestling in the sunlight, their sister giggling at them as they tumbled each other with breathless abandon. She was tucked up against her mother’s knee - and her mother was singing as she combed the silk tumble of the child’s hair.

"Deianeira ..." He breathed the name rather than spoke it, but she heard him and looked up, offering him a warm and welcoming smile.

"Hello, Iolaus," she said, rising to her feet and holding out her hand in greeting. "We weren’t expecting you today."

"No," Ania agreed happily, giving his arm one last warm hug before she pushed him towards her friend. "Isn’t it wonderful? I’m always so worried when he’s away but - here he is, safe and sound."

_They’re gone, Iolaus._

He was remembering the look on his best friend’s face, and the utter devastation that had replaced the light in a man’s eyes. The mortal world had been fading in his memory - but seeing her, seeing _them_ , brought it back with aching clarity. His hand closed over hers and her touch was just as he remembered it. _Here_ she was the same capable and confident woman that she’d always been; a devoted mother, a loving wife - and a true friend. 

"So I see." Deianeira put her free hand on his shoulder and kissed him warmly on the cheek. "Don’t play too rough with Anacles, boys," she advised the group behind her. "He’s only little ..."

"Little can be good," Iolaus protested, defending both his son and himself in the same breath. The two women laughed, Deianeira’s hands tightening their grip with affection.

"Sometimes it’s the best," she murmured, winking at Ania over his shoulder. "Come, sit down, have something to eat. I’ve fresh baked apple biscuits _and_ paclava. You and Hercules are both alike - you _never_ eat properly while you’re travelling. And don’t tell me that there’s nothing like a fresh caught rabbit roasted over a camp fire - I’ve _eaten_ your cooking, remember?"

"Yeah," he laughed, letting himself be steered towards the roughly hewn seat in front of the house. He remembered Hercules making that particular bench - and how proud the man had been to let his pregnant wife be the first person to sit on it ... "Paclava sounds good. And _your_ paclava is as good as ambrosia - if not better," he added against the sudden tightness in his throat.

_This is so right - and yet it’s so **wrong** ..._

It was a soft summer day, in a place bereft of all care and concerns; there were people that he loved and cared for with him - and yet there was something, _someone_ , missing from that perfect picture. It was as if they had gathered for a celebration, and were still waiting for the guest of honor to arrive. 

Deianeira was busy chuckling at his compliment. "Flattery will get you another piece on your plate," she promised. "But that’s _all_." Ania smiled, tucking herself onto the bench next to her husband.

"Isn’t this perfect?" she sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder while she watched their son play tag with the other children. "Well," she added, glancing up as their hostess reached to hand her a brimming goblet of golden wine, " _almost_ perfect."

"Now, don’t," Deianeira told her firmly. "I know it would be nice to have Hercules here, but he’s busy doing all the things he has to, and we have no right to call him away from that. There’s just so much good he’s yet to do. Some many people to help, so many wrongs to right ..." She pressed a second goblet into Iolaus’ hand and he took it abstractedly, his mind busy replaying the last time he’d seen his friend. The man had been drowning in anger and despair, unable to deny event and lashing out because of it. There’d been a lot of words, but the meaning behind them had been unmistakable. 

_Go away before she kills you too ..._

He’d left because that had felt like the right thing to do, and he’d offered to help Lycus because _that_ had felt like the right thing too - only now he was here, and that had been exactly what Hercules _hadn’t_ wanted to happen.

"It’s the price we pay, falling in love with a hero," the man’s wife was saying, talking to _his_ wife, but watching her children as she did so. Tag had turned into piggyback racing; Aeson had hoisted Anacles up onto his shoulders and the two of them were being chased by Clonis and Ilea. "You know that."

Ania heaved another sigh, this one holding patient resignation. "I know," she said, giving the man beside an affectionate look. "But you’re home to stay now, aren’t you my love?"

_Am I?_

Iolaus studied his wife’s face, finding nothing but love and warmth in her eyes. Being with her - being with his _son_ \- had filled an empty place in his heart; but even here, he wasn’t whole, nor could he be. Not while his friend’s family remained sundered in two. For almost as long as he could remember, Hercules had been a part of who and what he was. This place - this _paradise_ \- would seem little more than empty dream until his partner was there to share it.

Which - the gods and the fates willing - would not be for a long time to come. Deianeira was right; the mortal world needed the son of Zeus much more than _they_ did. And yet, and _yet_ ...

The laughter of excited children rang through the grove, and their mothers shared a glance of mutual pride and happiness that turned the hollow feeling in his stomach into a knot of anxious guilt. These carefree spirits had been freed from the weight of the mortal world. Time no longer had meaning for them. Hercules might not find this place for a thousand years, and yet - to them - it would seem no more than a day, and their welcome would be no less joyous for all the waiting in between.

The thought of that time stretched ahead of him like an endless road. As endless as the road in Hecate’s realm, where you could run as far and as fast as you like and still never get anywhere.

 _I **know** I’m dead. Maybe they do too, but - I’m not supposed to be here. There’s a piece of me still trapped between life and death ..._

It was right then that - somewhere unutterably distant and yet impossibly close - he heard Hercules speaking to him.

_This one’s for you, buddy._

"Hercules?" Iolaus stood up and turned towards the sound, half expecting the son of Zeus to be right behind him. He wasn’t - but there was a dark figure in a hooded robe standing at the edge of the clearing. The hunter’s heart sank. He reached down and carefully placed the golden goblet onto the low wooden table, brushed Ania’s cheek with his fingers and then slowly walked across the distance to where the old man waited for him.

"Handsome boy," the quavery voice remarked as he arrived within hearing distance. Iolaus - despite a determination not to - glanced back. Anacles was running for the sheer joy of it, his eyes bright and his face lit with laughter. It was a glorious sight - so glorious that his father had to turn away and wrestle for breath.

"They all are," he managed, his voice cracked with a sudden surge of emotion that he didn’t know how to deal with. It was joy and it was pain, and it went so deep he felt as though his heart had shattered into a thousand shards.

"That’s true." There were eyes watching him from under the hood; dark eyes, filled with wisdom and sadness and sympathy. "You could stay, you know. This is the moment where you can choose. To go on - or go back. Back to the cares and the hurts and the dangers of the mortal world. Back to where _he_ is just a memory."

Iolaus closed his own eyes for a moment, considering that. To stay - to _really_ stay ... Anacles’ happy giggle rang through the air and he shuddered, feeling it catch in his heart and tangle there, feeling the pain it would cost to rip it free. 

_That’s the pain that Hercules is feeling right now,_ he reminded himself. _And I’m not there to help him through it ..._

He opened his eyes and fixed the figure in front of him with a resolute look. "I can live with that," he said, trying to control the tremble in his voice. "They don’t need me here. I know - they’ll miss me, but - I don’t _belong_ here. Not yet. And Herc ..." He broke off, unable to express the storm that churned through him

"You go back, you owe me," the hooded figure pointed out, his voice backed with a note of menace. "Are you going to pay?"

_Just a little of your time. Say - the rest of your life ..._

Iolaus took a long trembling breath and determinedly shook his head.

"I’m sorry," he offered. "I know I owe you, but - I _have_ to go back and - I can’t give you what you asked. I have another debt to pay first. Hercules may not know it," he explained, "but he _does_ need me. Someone has to keep an eye on him. Haul him out of trouble - or into it," he added, with a sudden desire for honesty.

"Is that what you want?" the old man demanded. "A life on the road, facing danger, risking everything - maybe even the chance to come back _here_ \- just for the sake of keeping one man company? Your son is only a word away. Is this man worth _that_? Is his friendship, his cause, his _purpose,_ worth that much to you? He’s marked by the gods, Iolaus. Hera will try to hurt him anyway she can. Are you willing to give _this_ up to face _her_?"

_Weigh need against desire - and choose a path which answers both ..._

He’d made his choice. It had hurt to make it but - having made it - he knew it was the right path to take. The _only_ path. Desire tore him in two - between laughter and duty, between his son and the brother of his heart. But _need_ pulled him back, and he would go where he was needed, because - in the end - that was where he really belonged.

"I’m willing," he said, unable to avoid one last glance over his shoulder, needing to fix that image in his mind for now and forever. "I wish there was some way I could repay you for what you’ve done ..."

Hands reached up and lifted away the hood. Beneath it familiar features offered him a beneficent smile. "You have, my boy," Zeus assured him, his voice heavy with gratitude. "Believe me - you _have_."

Then Elysium dissolved in a swirl of light and sound. Darkness crowded in, impenetrable, surrounding and suffocating him -

\- until stone became flesh, and he was set free ...

* * *

__I saw them Hercules. Deineira and the kids. When I was ...  
_Are they okay?_  
Yeah, they’re fine. Now that they’re free of the evils on earth. Their only problem is missing you.  
_Yeah. I miss them too. But I don’t know a cure for that._  
Death is the only cure. But they don’t want you to die. They know how much good you have left to do. Hold them in your heart - until it’s time.  
_I will, Iolaus. Right there with you ..._

#####  **Hercules and Iolaus in ‘The Wrong Path’**


End file.
